


life in our shape

by singsungie



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Coming of Age, I guess um it's just some August feelings, Kinda, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Summer Vacation, They're All BFFs, and there's some minor blood mentions, birthday present to soof!!, minho centric, they drink and smoke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 18:50:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20605628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singsungie/pseuds/singsungie
Summary: People can’t live without noise, Minho supposes. Even now, with his bated breath, his heart thumps loud and clear in his chest.“Yeah,” he repeats a little louder, prompting Changbin to turn around. “You’re right. We’ll be okay.”---Sometimes to ease the growing pains all you need are good friends, and fate dealt Minho the perfect hand.





	life in our shape

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY TO SOOF ILYSMSM
> 
> sorry it's so late, Apparently uni is hard... ik you love your changjin+minsung so here, have some Feelings, i hope you like it<333  
(also if i may direct you to her [amazing works](https://archiveofourown.org/users/0mile/pseuds/0mile) (lowkey, writer of the year))  
i had [emmie](https://twitter.com/midzyonce) and [bobbi](https://twitter.com/milkmurk) read over this for me!! super grateful to them both, also check them out, great authors as well!! <333
> 
> //note bout the fic: i didn't mention their ages, so it's only implied underage drinking/smoking, and the minor blood is cuz of a small cut, but it's not super explicit. also, if it's confusing - the numbered (I, II, III) parts are from the same day, while the --- ones are other random summer days!  
hope you like this as much as i enjoyed writing it!<33

I

The day is burning hot, and the fact they’re out in the afternoon sun isn’t helping one bit. Minho has one of his arms bent under his head, his eyes lazily following a big, fluffy cloud that kind of looks like a bunny. His other hand rests on Changbin’s knee. He’s pretty sure Changbin is sitting in Hyunjin’s lap, because he always is, in one way or another, _ somewhere _on Hyunjin, which means the legs under Minho’s are Jisung’s.

The breeze by the ground is barely caressing their heated, sweat-sticky bodies, unlike the wind high up that’s hurrying the bunny-cloud along towards the sun. Jisung is playing one of his soft songs; Minho has probably heard it a thousand times already, considering he’s had it on since the start of the summer. He’d think that by now either Jisung would get bored of it, or Minho would finally pay enough attention to be able to recognize more than one lyric, and yet the melodies just slide past and fade into the background noise.

Hyunjin laughs, Jisung follows soon after and Minho curls his fingers into his hair, and closes his eyes. Changbin’s skin is hot under his touch; the warm air smells like drying hay, blackcurrant flavoured cider, and the soy sauce from the take-out sushi that's long gone now. The conversation has become just some more background noise to Minho’s heartbeat. It echoes, slow and steady, through his whole body like he’s been emptied out inside, bouncing back and forth and never escaping.

"Yo," Changbin pokes his side and Minho startles. "Did you fall asleep?"

Reluctantly, Minho opens his eyes again. The bunny-cloud is covering the sun now, and the wind keeps slowly unraveling it. Minho kind of feels like that cloud, little by little getting smudged out of his shape so he tries to get hold of whatever he’s still sure of. 

It’s debatable if there even is something to hold onto anymore. Maybe he’s too late. 

"No," Minho answers and sits up, grabbing the half-full bottle. "But I almost did, y'all are so boring."

"Shut up," Jisung laughs. His face gleams, flushed from both the weather and the alcohol. He snatches the bottle the moment Minho takes a sip. 

Minho watches the way his Adam’s apple bobs. The way he grins, trying to look mischievous.

“I bet it’s just your age catching up.” Jisung’s voice is breathy, eyes sparkly.

Minho shrugs and takes the bottle back, presses his legs down onto Jisung’s with heavy purpose, but he doesn’t move an inch.

“Be careful, I’m the one buying your drinks,” he says with a raised eyebrow and chugs the rest of the cider. 

Changbin overtakes the conversation and Minho watches the way Hyunjin’s fingers draw lines on his tanned arms, almost feeling the phantom touch himself. When he licks his lips and feels the sweetness from the cider still on them, he wonders for one, single moment if that’s how Jisung’s lips taste too.

The bunny-cloud has disintegrated into some other shape, almost fully unrecognisable. The wind seems especially unrelenting and destructive today; or maybe it’s just an artist with its own vision—in the end, who is Minho to judge it, when every decision he has made was more or less questionable.

“Hey,” he butts in all of a sudden, looking down at their measly picnic. The container with berries has turned over and spilled its leftover contents all over the blanket, between and under all sorts of body parts. There surely will be pink and purple stains on someone, if not them all. Something about that thought warms Minho’s heart.

“Yea?” Changbin pokes Minho once more. “You blanked on us.”

“Oh,” he lifts his head to find three pairs of gleaming eyes staring at him. He laughs out loud—it rings through his still empty ribcage—and reaches over to pinch one of Changbin’s puffy cheeks. Changbin tries to swat him away, to no avail. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous endeavors,” Hyunjin giggles, ducking behind Changbin’s back the moment Minho glares at him. He can’t really run, considering there’s a whole boy on his lap, but Minho is satisfied with his reaction anyway.

“Ah, yeah, I’ve been doing that too lately,” Jisung sighs and leans back until he’s laying down. Minho watches half of his head disappear between grass and wildflowers. Jisung doesn’t seem to mind.

“Damn, you two are really using up all that energy right before we need it the most,” Hyunjin snorts. No one else joins in, the mood swiftly shifting even with the pop music still blasting from Jisung’s shitty phone speakers. 

Silence falls and Minho bites his lip. Jisung sighs again.

Changbin leans into Hyunjin even more and from the corner of his eye, Minho can see Hyunjin’s arms tightening around him, his lips coming closer to whisper. 

But his focus right now is on Jisung and the subtle way his chest expands and retracts with every slow, purposeful breath. The way his white, oversized t-shirt falls in delicate folds, spills down his body, a contrast to his sunkissed skin. Minho’s eyes catch on the thin, small scar on Jisung’s right wrist from a bicycle accident, and his fingers, intimately familiar with the way Jisung’s smooth skin dips into that tiny mark, itch to reach forward and caress it once again.

“Three more days, huh,” Jisung speaks up, breaking apart the timid tension. “Time moves fast.”

“Too fucking fast, if you ask me,” Changbin laughs, and Minho thinks, figuring he’s allowed to be overdramatic sometimes, that it sounds like the laughter of someone being walked towards the guillotine. Jisung hums in agreement; Hyunjin’s hug seems to only get tighter and tighter, but if Changbin is uncomfortable with it, he says nothing.

Minho reaches for the backpack behind him without looking and grins when he feels the smooth plastic.

“I think this horrifying revelation deserves a toast,” he says, already unscrewing the bottle.

“Yeah, fuck being aware of time!” Jisung lifts both of his arms up, hands curled into fists, and Minho giggles as he bumps the heavy bottom of the bottle against one of them.

The cavity behind his ribs still echoes with his heartbeat, but now there’s the sound of laughter there too and when Minho looks at his best friends, happy under the August sun, he figures maybe not all of his decisions were questionable.

\---

The pot on the stove starts bubbling quietly, barely audible over the loud music Hyunjin’s playing. Minho keeps glancing at it sideways as he chops up vegetables, waving away Changbin’s offer to help out.

“I got this,” he smiles and before Changbin can insist, Hyunjin sweeps him up into the weird dance-circle-thing he and Jisung are trying to make happen. There’s plenty of laughter and squealing; Jisung attempts and fails to sing along as Hyunjin pulls him from one side to another. 

“Let me go, I’m dizzy!” Jisung giggles.

“That’s the point,” Hyunjin answers and, Minho assumes, tugs him again, if the weird sound Jisung makes in response is any indication. 

The warm July wind sneaks in through the open window, brushing against Minho’s damp neck and he looks over to the stove again, lifting the knife when one of the flailing bodies hits his back.

“Shit,” Minho gasps, the blade in his hand shifting the wrong way. He can feel it brushing over his skin and so he immediately sticks his left index into his mouth. The pain hits only a second or so later, together with the salty metallic on his tongue. 

He rushes towards the sink and turns the cold water on, full blast.

“You okay?” Hyunjin asks. Minho winces. The freezing water numbs his skin, but it’s still not enough.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he swallows hard, watching the ruby splotches be washed away the moment they appear. “Do you have any bandaids?”

“Oh, yes, on it!” Changbin answers, running off towards the bathroom. 

Hyunjin crowds Minho at the sink. His index pulses with sharp stinging and it vibrates all the way to his chest.

“Ah, fuck, I’m sorry. We should have been more careful,” Hyunjin pouts and Minho rolls his eyes, hoping Changbin comes back soon. He doesn’t want to be coddled or to make a big deal; besides, the soup needs to be finished so they don’t starve.

“Don’t be,” he says, softly. “It’s just an accident.”

“Here,” Jisung appears on Minho’s other side, making him flinch. “You need to apply pressure.”

He has a couple of paper towels bunched up in one hand, his other reaching out to gently pull Minho’s hurt hand closer. His hold is firm and yet light. Minho has half a mind to pull away.

“Oh,” he sighs instead, letting himself relax into the touch. “You’re so warm.”

Jisung giggles, pressing the tissue to the cut. It hurts a little and Minho hisses.

“Or are you just cold?” Jisung asks and Minho meets his gaze. They’re practically nose to nose and he almost expects for Jisung to retreat. 

He doesn’t move one bit. Just stares back, apologetic eyes roaming over Minho’s face.

“Does it hurt a lot?” he asks and Minho wonders what he found. The stinging pain doesn’t seem to cease at all but it doesn’t make his focus shift away from Jisung’s touch either. “Should I kiss it better?”

“I’ve had worse papercuts than this,” he scoffs. Jisung rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face. There’s something so very tender in the way his dark eyes sparkle—in the way he still hasn’t let go of Minho’s wrist and is gently brushing the pads of his fingers in small circles on his skin, warming it back up.

“You didn’t say no, though,” he teases, and before Minho can even think of protesting, lifts his hand. His soft, if a little chapped, lips barely skim over Minho’s knuckles. Minho’s heart stutters and he shakily exhales the breath he’s been holding.

“Got them!” Changbin shouts as he scurries back into the kitchen and Minho jerks away from Jisung’s touch just a bit too harshly. “Sorry I took so long, no clue why they weren’t in the first aid box.”

“It’s okay,” Minho says, looking away from where the balled-up paper towels have fallen. There’s spots of bright red marring the pure white. His finger still hurts. 

Minho’s pretty sure the pain should have passed already, no more blood appearing, just a thin, almost invisible line left on his skin, and yet.

“Both of you are useless,” Jisung groans after neither Minho nor Changbin move, the former too lost in his thoughts and the latter looking a little pale, and gets to bandaging Minho’s finger himself. 

Minho just watches his hands work and lets his heart run its wild race.

\---

II

The city feels strangely empty—not that there aren’t people crowding cafes and bars and park benches, but they all seem subdued and muted, like ghosts barely holding on. Minho keeps his eyes up to the sky as they walk through the streets. The clouds are already tinted in shades of pink as the sun dips lower and lower, the heat of the day slowly receding.

The four of them are all in various states of tipsiness, loud and boisterous as they strut towards the bar where Hyunjin’s friend works. And even as Minho stays in the middle of the ruckus—as he contributes to the banter and the laughter and the shouts—the world feels tilted, hazy, off-centre. His limbs are heavy, heart thudding in his chest so hard he can feel it in his throat, the back of his neck damp; but it almost feels fake, like a cheap imitation of existence.

The only real thing is Jisung’s warmth besides him. The back of his hand grazes Minho’s every once in a while, his skin dry and hot and so, so soft. Minho’s fingers twitch every time it happens but he doesn’t dare move them closer.

And then Jisung’s palm wraps around his, at some point as they brush past a crowd of tourists, and Minho’s heart seizes up, his breath stuttering. He threads their fingers together and ignores the grin he can see from the corner of his eye.

_ This is so stupid, _ Minho thinks. _ Stupid and childish and nothing to get flustered over. _

The sun is too low to blame it on the flush of his cheeks, but Minho pretends anyway.

The bar, situated in a basement somewhere in old town, is pretty barren for a Friday night. There’s one room with round wooden tables and chairs and a fairy-light lit bar, where a few patrons linger, speaking in hushed tones, and another with old, beat-down sofas and mismatched dining chairs and low, orange lighting, and a couple of girls sitting as close as possible. 

They order their beer and then fall into the cushions, leaving Hyunjin behind so he can talk to his friend.

Minho sighs, relaxing his strained muscles. Despite its less than perfect appearance, the couch is incredibly comfortable and he might have even considered taking a short nap, if not for Jisung’s heavy head suddenly landing on his shoulder.

“Is this okay?” Jisung whispers. Minho didn’t notice when they entered, but there’s a radio turned on, melody barely discernible with the low volume, and Jisung’s voice matches it. His low tone makes Minho shiver and long to pull him even closer, until no space at all is left between them.

He spares a glance at Changbin, clearly engrossed in some mobile game, and lays a hand on Jisung’s thigh. It’s solid and warm under his touch. His thumb grazes over the top of a rip, feeling all the tiny loose threads and the promise of skin.

“Yeah,” he answers, just as quiet. “Of course it is.”

The beer glass is cold and slippery in Minho’s hold. Jisung’s hand is soft and twice as warm, and his voice is smooth, like the alcohol that slides down Minho’s throat. Everything is almost perfect, from the way Hyunjin’s eyes sparkle as he laughs, to Changbin’s flushed cheeks and Jisung’s shoulder pressed into Minho’s.

Then Jisung gets up and heads for the bathroom, taking his warmth with him, and Minho’s pleasant haziness dissipates. Hyunjin and Changbin don’t seem to notice him quieting down, continuing the conversation about their shared camp memories, so he leans back and takes deep breaths of the musty air. 

He tries to take hold, to gather himself back up, but it’s like his mind is suddenly filled with static. Changbin laughs at all of Hyunjin’s jokes and it’s so loud, and yet the indistinct notes from the radio seem to bother Minho much more. Shivers run down his body, the unpleasant kind, and he feels both hot and cold now. Too aware of his tight jeans and the way his hair falls on his forehead, and the way his sweaty skin sticks to itself.

He can’t keep sitting here.

“Binnie,” he kicks what he thinks is Changbin’s leg under the table. Hyunjin is the one that jumps. Minho can’t be bothered to find delight in his reaction. “Wanna go for a smoke?”

All it takes is one shared gaze and Changbin is up.

“Watch our stuff, ok?” he says softly to Hyunjin, who just giggles.

“From who? Those lovebirds didn’t even notice us entering,” he tilts his head in the direction of two girls. Changbin rolls his eyes.

“You know what I mean.” 

His hand lands on Minho’s arm and he lets himself be pulled up before moving his own legs. The other room, the one with the bar, is a little busier now, the flickering TV turned towards a basketball game. It’s tinted magenta and Minho focuses on it as they pass: tiny purple people running on a pink floor, with an even purplier crowd cheering them on. Nobody else seems to be watching it and the sound is off.

The evening’s air is cold. The wind gets under Minho’s t-shirt and brushes goosebumps all over his skin. Changbin had been holding his hand; Minho notices it only once he lets go of it. He wonders for a moment if Changbin was too warm or not warm enough.

“Here,” Changbin lifts a cigarette to his face. It’s one of those that have a little clicker to bite on to make it minty. The ones Hyunjin prefers. “Or do you want to share?”

“I can smoke a whole cigarette,” Minho rolls his eyes and snatches it from Changbin.

“Oh, can you?” Changbin raises an eyebrow. “Wasn’t aware Mr. ‘Hey Jisung, wanna go halfsies?’”

“Fuck you,” Minho frowns but leans forward so Changbin can light it up. “As if I’d ever use the word ‘halfsies’.”

“It’s a perfectly valid word,” Changbin frowns back. The cherries of their cigarettes glow in the shadows. The sky is a dark, velvety blue and Minho detests the city lights for hiding the stars from him. “Minho. Is everything okay?”

The sudden shift in his voice unsettles Minho, so he shakes the ashes off and goes to lean on the metal railing above the stairs to the bar. Takes another deep drag. 

Changbin follows only to stay right in front of him, where his concerned eyes can freely observe Minho.

“I just wanted a smoke,” Minho answers with a small smile, not meeting Changbin’s eyes. 

“I watched you buy a pack,” Changbin says, arms tense. Minho wonders how long he’ll be able to keep up this mock-interrogation. “This very morning. Managed to lose it already?”

“Maybe I’m just really attached to the tradition of pilfering them from you.”

A corner of Changbin’s lips moves, almost against his will.

_ Gotcha, _ Minho thinks, and then the same memories he was hinting at flash in his own mind. Something swirls, deep in his stomach. The smoke is harsh as he pulls it down his throat.

“Ugh, remember when the homeroom teacher turned my backpack inside out?” Changbin scoffs. His gaze turns towards the tattered flyers on the ground. Minho should be glad he moved on from the questioning. He should be. He doesn’t think he is. “Wasted half of a lesson and found _ nothing. _Nada. Not even a lighter. Was pissed like all hell, and yet couldn’t do shit.”

“Your own fault,” Minho shrugs. The smoke lingers in the air, thin and delicate. “Should wash your hands at least once in a while. But we did laugh bout it for days, so. Silver lining.”

Changbin ignores his comment, eyes still searching the faded letters.

“I never said thanks,” he muses and Minho goes rigid. “You didn’t have to. I barely even knew you, besides all the cigarettes you ‘borrowed’.”

“I’ll give them back one day, don’t worry.”

Changbin’s eyes are dark and yet his smile is softer than the glow from the half-full moon, than the fragile tendrils of smoke.

“I still doubt that. But you know what I don’t doubt?” he asks and Minho tries to stall by taking another drag. His fingers shake and he barely avoids burning himself. “You. Us.” Changbin doesn’t wait for his answer. “I don’t doubt that you will do great. That you will be okay. That _ we _ will be okay, whatever it means, and that, in the end, we will be happy.”

“How,” Minho asks but it’s less of a question and more of a plea. Changbin shrugs, inhales once more, then moves to lean next to Minho. Their elbows touch. 

Changbin is solid, he’s a warmth that’s familiar to Minho, a smell that’s clear even under all this smoke. For a moment, an old oak tree flickers in his mind, the rush of secrecy, the burned fingers and smell of cheap tobacco. The tears, the worries, the laughter. Not much has changed.

“Because it’s you, and it’s me, and it’s _ us _. Because you and Jisung fit so well together, and Hyunjin never complains about me being clingy, and you always have my back.” His voice is quiet and it echoes in Minho’s own chest. 

“Because we deserve it,” Changbin sighs and bumps their shoulders together. “You deserve to be happy, Minho.”

Minho drops the cigarette to the ground and crushes it to the pavement.

“Yeah,” he mumbles to the night sky. A group of already drunk people stumble into the alley, staggering towards the bar. 

“It’s his birthday!” shouts one of them as they pass Changbin and Minho to climb down the stairs. 

“Congrats!” Changbin answers with a grin and a small wave. Minho watches them laugh as they stumble and hold onto each other. Noisy. 

People can’t live without noise, Minho supposes. Even now, with his bated breath, his heart thumps loud and clear in his chest.

“Yeah,” he repeats a little louder, prompting Changbin to turn around. “You’re right. We’ll be okay.”

“See,” Changbin starts, a smile on his lips, but Minho doesn’t let him finish.

“And I’m never returning you any of the cigarettes.”

“Hey!” Changbin laughs and Minho does too, as they lean into each other. “I liked it better when you gave me hope, you know.”

Minho just shakes his head, grinning as he looks up. The stars aren’t visible, but he’ll always know they’re there.

\---

The sky is pitch black, moon barely visible through charcoal clouds, and the air smells like damp wood and rain-soaked grass. Minho is slouching on the floor of Hyunjin’s balcony, watching a willow tree sway, bathed in orange from the streetlight, when the door creaks open.

“Found you,” Jisung says, closing the door behind himself, and then sits in front of Minho, legs crossed. Minho offers him a smile and a cigarette. “Yeah, sure, if you want to share?”

“We can,” Minho answers. He’s never said no.

After lighting it, they sit in silence. Minho puts his feet in Jisung’s lap. The smoke burns his eyes a little. Jisung’s fingers are warm on Minho’s naked ankles and Minho is starting to feel somewhat sleepy; the night has settled down into his bones, keeping his heart quiet. He hasn’t had more than a can of beer, so the buzz is already gone, and in the darkness it’s hard to tell whether Jisung is sober too. Minho hopes he is, though he’s not sure why. 

“You know, it’s kinda unsettling,” Jisung starts, and Minho turns to him. A faintest orange tinge rests on the right side of his face, bouncing off his hair. He looks soft and warm and Minho has half a mind to crawl into his lap.

“What, the way neither Changbin nor Hyunjin have zero shame?”

Jisung immediately winces, cheeks going dark.

“God, please,” he groans. “Don’t remind me of that. I’ve seen too much.”

Minho laughs, finishing the cigarette.

“What is it then?” he asks when Jisung doesn’t continue his thought.

“Ah,” he blinks at Minho and licks his lips. “It’s just… the bats. Sometimes you can make out that noise they make. It’s weird. Gives me goosebumps.”

“Yeah, well,” Minho mumbles. If he tried to, he could catch the noise Jisung is talking about—the very low, infrequent clicks as bats fly around catching bugs. He doesn’t like it either, the way it echoes down his chest. “Not supposed to be something heard by us.”

Jisung doesn’t answer him, letting the silence fall as he looks out the windows, searching for something as his fingers wander Minho's skin. Minho just watches the glint of light between his eyebrows and on the tip of his nose. The curve of his top lip.

"Minho," Jisung asks without turning. "You’ve kissed someone before, right?"

The question makes Minho freeze. He quickly blinks away the surprise, looking up to find Jisung’s eyes on his.

"Of course," he scoffs. His lungs feel stiff and unwilling. "Do you see this face? Clearly, I'm single by choice."

"Sure," Jisung rolls his eyes. "I was actually more worried about your personality."

Minho has a handful of comebacks at the tip of his tongue, ready to jump out and veer their conversation.

"Why do you ask?" slips out instead. Jisung's fingers stutter on his skin before returning to their shapeless patterns. He shrugs.

"I dunno. Remember when I was with Jungeun?" Minho smiles, well aware their three week long school romance. At least it ended more peacefully than most of its kind. "And I kissed other girls before her too."

There's a pause and Minho waits, heart hammering in his chest.

"But I never had a chance to kiss a boy."

Jisung throws him a sidelong glance as Minho struggles to take a decent breath.

"Oh," is all he can answer, intelligently.

"I think it would be different," Jisung muses. "Or, maybe I—"

"Well, do you want to try?" Minho offers, trying to ignore the way his heart stops and his stomach floods with anticipation. He shouldn’t be doing this, fostering hope, feeding the illusion of their relationship that he has created in his own head.

But it’s almost impossible to stop when Jisung makes it easy.

His sparkly eyes go wide and even in the darkness Minho can make out the flush on his cheeks.

“I-I mean, I didn’t—” he stutters, hand leaving Minho’s skin to rub his own neck. For a moment, Minho allows his desperation to shine through, but Jisung has already looked away. He laughs, the sound feeble and wavering, and shakes his head. “Maybe let’s not… not now. I was just thinking out loud anyway.”

Minho shrugs, looking back to the willow, pretending the entirety of his body doesn’t fill with bitter disappointment.

“Your call,” he answers, sounding perfectly nonchalant. “I get you. And… yeah. It _ is _different.”

Jisung’s hands hover over his skin for a moment—Minho can feel the heat radiating from them—before finally landing again.

“Good to know,” he whispers, then speaks up. “Can we share a cigarette again?”

Minho hands it to Jisung, follows his fingers to his lips, watches his eyelashes flutter as he lights it for him. Struggles to take shallow breaths though he longs for a long deep sigh.

The orange edges of Jisung’s face suddenly seem sharper; the smoke tastes sour when Minho breathes it in. It makes Minho want to blow it out, straight into Jisung’s face, and watch his contours get smudged until he’s nothing but another ghost in Minho’s life.

Then Jisung gives him a tentative smile, a flash of teeth—and though Minho is not sure he will ever truly get him, he can’t find it in himself to push him away either, so he lets the smoke gently drift upwards and smiles back. 

\---

Hyunjin’s living room is dark, illuminated only by the TV playing muted 80’s music videos. They’re lying on the floor, one of Minho’s arms thrown over his head, fingers brushing against the edge of the carpet. Hyunjin has Kkami laying on his stomach. A plate with chocolate chip cookies cools between them.

“I’m gonna move out,” Hyunjin blurts out in the middle of Minho telling him about Soonie’s sleeping habits.

“And I— what?” Minho turns to him. Hyunjin is staring at the ceiling, lips pursed. Dim light flickers on his skin.

“I’m gonna move to the dorms,” Hyunjin repeats.

“Oh, um,” Minho blinks and looks away. His chest squeezes. “Okay. When?”

“Last week of August, I think.”

Minho exhales a slow breath.

“Yeah, that’s… that’s a smart idea,” he says, hooking his fingertips under the carpet. “Actually, Changbin offered me to room with him. I thought it was weird.”

“Yeah,” Hyunjin laughs weakly. “Pretty sure he asked me way before you.”

“Wait,” Minho frowns and looks over again. Flashes of colour tint Hyunjin’s skin, his white t-shirt. He’s still turned to the ceiling. “You said no?”

“I did,” Hyunjin shrugs and Kkami raises his head. He brushes a hand down his back to lull him back to sleep. “I dunno. I think it’s better if we take it slow or whatever.”

“Can ‘taking it slow’ include not making out in front of all your friends?” Minho teases, laughing when Hyunjin pushes at his shoulder.

“Oh, we’re friends now?” Hyunjin quips back, finally meeting Minho’s eyes. 

“I meant Jisung, obviously,” Minho says and Kkami yips in answer and they fall into breathless giggles again, before it fades to the darkness.

“Ugh, do you think they’re good?” Hyunjin asks and Minho follows his gaze to the cookies. He thinks they should be ready to eat, but he can’t resist some more teasing.

“I thought you liked taking it slow,” Minho raises an eyebrow, expecting for Hyunjin to groan or quip back, but instead he just bites his lip, still staring at the cookies.

“I don’t,” he says. “I lied.”

“I’m… what?” Minho blinks at him. Hyunjin reaches over and takes one, carefully biting into it; Minho watches as he chews slowly, as he meticulously picks out the parts he wants to show Minho.

“It’s a little,” Hyunjin says, then takes a moment to swallow and lick his lips. “A little weird. To think that me and Changbin are, you know, _ together _ together.”

“How come?” Minho asks after another pause. Voice gentle, so Hyunjin’s delicate Jenga tower of emotions doesn’t topple over. The way he’s learned over the years. 

Minho doubts anyone else knows Hyunjin as well as he does—all the buttons to push, the right words to comfort and to irritate; just as Hyunjin is all too familiar with Minho’s own weak spots, his inhibitions, and the hundred of masks he hides behind. It comes with being neighbours and, eventually, friends, since kindergarten.

The flicker from the TV makes Hyunjin’s tired, sweaty skin glimmer, illuminates the crumbs on his chin that he impatiently wipes off before shrugging. 

“You know how I am with relationships. How I was, I guess,” Hyunjin speaks again and Minho doesn’t even notice himself shifting closer. The plate digs right under his ribs. “It never went past the first couple dates and I never expected it to. I didn’t plan for the future.” He pauses again and Minho watches him blink at the ceiling, hands buried in Kkami’s fur. “_ Is _ it ‘was’? Fuck, whatever. I just didn’t expect it to work out and that’s how it’s supposed to go, you know?”

“Why? Cause you’re super hot?” Minho asks. “Because you’re only a little above average, to be honest.”

“Shut up,” Hyunjin laughs, hitting Minho’s shoulder again. “Because we’re fucking teenagers, Minho. Who wants to get all tied down and crumbled up at a tender age of seven-fucking-teen.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “And, yes, I guess being fairly attractive gave me an easy pass. People would ask me out for a challenge, to see if someone like me would go out with them, and then moved right on, and, well, it helped to fuel my own expectations.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Minho says, a smug smirk on his lips, and Hyunjin giggles.

“Do you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, and Minho sticks his tongue out, prompting some harmless slapping at his torso. 

“And Changbin was just… there,” Hyunjin continues, laughing when Minho frowns. “Okay, that came out wrong. Changbin was always _ There, _capital T, italics and no just, not when it comes to him. He’s, like, the, I don’t know, the Eiffel tower on your first trip to Paris. No matter where, no matter when, he was in the back of my mind.”

“Neither of us ever went to Paris,” Minho points out and Hyunjin squeezes his eyes shut.

“Who cares what analogy I use, you know perfectly well what I mean,” his voice is a little quieter, like the late hours are finally catching up to him. Minho bites his tongue and looks to the side, to the shadows fluttering on the wall. “Don’t you, Minho?”

That’s the worst thing about being best friends, they just _ know, _ without words. And Minho is perfectly aware that vulnerability is best met with one of your own, so he swallows and turns back.

“I think I do,” he says and Hyunjin gives him a weak smile. Kkami growls in his sleep. “You don’t need to have big expectations, though. Do _ you _ know that, Hyunjin? You’re allowed to just let things go as they will.”

“I can’t help it,” Hyunjin whispers. “I don’t want to be and yet I’m filled with expectations. I hate it.”

Minho sighs, reaches a hand to rest on Hyunjin’s arm. “Hyunjin…”

“What if it’s not a _ was, _ Minho? What if I still am that way and I’ll never be able to stop and change and—”

“Breathe,” Minho says, kneading the tense bicep. “It’s just semantics.”

“Yeah, well,” Hyunjin laughs, bitter and dull, unlike any of their laughter this night so far. “Pretty important semantics, I’d say.”

Minho sighs, tilting his head before a thought flits through is mind. “You know… When we were in that coffee shop next to Jisung’s old place— it was, fuck, two? three? Whatever, _ some _years ago,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut so the memory is clearer. “And you were bringing us drinks when a bug landed straight on your wrist.”

“What—” Hyunjin starts but Minho doesn’t let him interrupt.

“Spilled coffee all down your legs and ruined your new jeans, remember? We had gone shopping a couple days before.” He waits a little for Hyunjin to nod.

“Yeah, I think I do,” Hyunjin says, frowning as he struggles to recall. “Uh, what about it?”

“Changbin was the first one to jump towards you, even before the cups hit the ground,” Minho continues, slow and gentle. “Do you know why, Hyunjin?”

“I don’t… What are you talking about?” Hyunjin is still frowning as he meets Minho’s eyes.

“He’s been watching you since the start,” Minho smiles as he remembers all the shy glances. “He always cared, even as he watched you jump from one relationship to another. Even more so, I’ve never heard even one judgemental word from him about any of it. Which is why I have no doubt believing Changbin has genuine, real feelings for you, Hyunjinnie.

“And, considering the way you’re overthinking this, so do you. Which means you can’t compare this to your flings. It’s uncharted territory, something you haven’t done yet, so how could you say whether or not it will work out without trying?”

Hyunjin lays in silence for a moment and Minho lets him, watching the never-ending light show on his skin.

“Do _ you _think it will?” Hyunjin asks after some time.

“Yes,” Minho answers without hesitation. Hyunjin nods, bites his lip.

“We got into a fight, last week,” he says. Minho stills in surprise.

“You did? But everything seems… fine?”

“We made up pretty much immediately,” Hyunjin shrugs. “But, before we did, I cried. A lot. And it scared me.”

“You cry over everything, though,” Minho can’t help but laugh. “You cried when I brought you some pie the other day.”

“It’s called ‘being in touch with your emotions’ and I feel no shame over it,” Hyunjin sticks his tongue out before sobering up again. “But I never cried so hard over a boyfriend before. Or at all, to be honest, and it was just a stupid fight over an even stupider joke.” He takes a deep breath. “So yes, I guess I do have feelings for Changbin and it scares me to hell and back.”

“That’s love,” Minho laughs. “Terrifying and horrible and yet worth it all, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Hyunjin sighs then turns to Minho. “But, do tell, how would _ you _know?”

“I just do,” he smiles and takes a cookie. Hyunjin just laughs at him, but doesn’t ask another question—that’s the thing about best friends. They know, and he knows he doesn’t need to ask.

Somehow, though they both have zero experience in baking, their midnight creation melts in Minho’s mouth, coating his tongue in sweet chocolate and even sweeter fondness. 

\---

III

It’s dark and the late-night bus is empty, save for a few other teenagers, a dozing off businessman up front and Minho and Jisung, sitting next to the door. Changbin and Hyunjin are somewhere behind them, speeding off into the opposite direction; Changbin had insisted on taking Hyunjin home, even though the dorms he lives in are on the other side of the city. Doesn’t matter—Changbin’s smile when Hyunjin peppers his cheeks with kisses shows pretty clearly that he won’t mind the long trip.

Neither Jisung nor Minho had to say a word to know they’re heading to Jisung’s. That’s how it’s been every weekend this summer so far.

The dark streets outside are almost invisible and Minho watches his own face, reflected on the window, get drowned out by the yellow streetlights. A flicker in, a flicker out. It reminds him of the time he and Hyunjin played Bloody Mary, back when they both were in elementary school. 

The memory makes Minho smile and he looks at the reflected curl of his own lips, at Jisung’s arm around his shoulders, his knuckles brushing against the glass. High up on his forearm, almost right by his elbow, there’s a streak of purple. A leftover from the morning that now seems so far behind.

The memory of sunny warmth makes Minho lean into Jisung a little more, relax under the weight of his touch. 

When the bus stops near a dim alleyway, Jisung’s profile is clear in the reflection and Minho watches the way his own dark hair rests on Jisung’s cheek, the way his eyelashes flutter. This close together, he can clearly hear Jisung’s steady breath under the chatter of the other passengers. 

Minho feels tired from a full day of socialization, but he figures it’s good practice for the school year that’s about to come. And though his legs are tingly and leaden and the bright blue seats are old and uncomfortable, Jisung’s embrace is warm and soothing and intimate. 

Despite it all, there are few other places where Minho would rather be right now.

The bus moves on, a monotonous female voice letting them know there’s three more stops before theirs, and Minho closes his eyes. Jisung smells like the beer they drank and cinnamon gum and something fruity, but sour; safe and grounding, and Minho is almost happy.

They step out to the cool night air and Minho stops for a moment to stretch his arms up. Jisung waits for him and takes his hand the moment it comes down, settling his warm fingers between Minho’s freezing ones, tugging him forward. 

They stroll towards Jisung’s house, talking about everything and nothing in low voices. It’s not far, just through a sleeping neighbourhood of darkened playgrounds, past chestnuts and oaks, their quivering leaves painting dancing shadows on the pavement, a trip they’ve taken many times. 

Minho isn’t sure if it’s the crispness in the air, so telling of the change of seasons, or if it’s the frail quiet around them, almost tense in the way it hangs over their heads. Or maybe it’s the familiar blanket of night and their shadows, stretching far on the path, fuzzy edges blending together. Maybe it’s a delicate mix of them all, the way existence at that very moment feels like a sweet dream that could turn bad anytime. 

One or the other, _ something _ makes the taut thread inside them snap and the atmosphere comes loose. Jisung says a dumb, obscene joke and Minho cackles, bold and unabashed, until Jisung joins in; then, as if set on fire, every cell in Minho’s body begins vibrating with drive, and so he starts running, giggles still spilling from his throat.

“Hey! Wait!” Jisung shouts, and sprints after him, their footsteps and laughter echoing between the buildings.

Minho runs and runs and runs. His back prickles with the feeling of Jisung at his heels and it pushes him even further, even faster, has him circling around a playground and into a barren baseball court. His lungs burn and so does all of his tired muscles and the air has never felt fresher than when he gulps it down in a crazed frenzy.

When the beat-down concrete under his feet changes to grass, Minho slows down, letting Jisung catch up and push at him. 

“Don’t just run off, asshole,” Jisung growls and Minho pushes back, but it’s all play. The laughter bubbles up again as they roughhouse before someone slips and they both tumble down.

Once down, they lay there, giggling giving way to panting, and Minho swallows hard, staring at the deep darkness of the sky above them. He can feel the dew already seeping into his clothes and hair, the sweat rolling down his temples, the ache in his back from falling, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

There’s something new inside Minho’s chest, something big and heavy taking up all the empty space, thumping together with his racing heart. Something that flows to every corner of his body and brings attention to the tips of his toes. The back of his knees, the curve of his spine, the bend of his elbows, the spot under his jaw, all of them suddenly feel _ his, _ clear and tangible.

Minho is tired and sore and breathless, but he’s _ there. _

They’re quiet for a moment even as their panting fades to regular breaths, and Minho blinks at the plane flickering high up.

“Jisungie,” he says, turning his head to find Jisung already watching him. “Thank you.” He’s not sure why that’s important but at the same time, it has never been more clear.

Jisung starts laughing again, but it’s muted, almost soundless. He laughs for so long, Minho can feel it echoing in his chest.

“Jisung?” he asks, and his best friend meets his gaze again, still grinning.

“Thank you too,” he answers. His cheeks are flushed, eyes sparkling with hundreds of stars. 

Minho watches, tries to draw the constellations in his irises, tries to commit it all to memory—the feeling of breeze drying his sweaty skin, the feeling of warmth of Jisung’s hand under his.

Jisung giggles again and shuffles closer, until their shoulders touch.

“So, will you finally kiss me or do I have to do everything myself?” he asks and Minho’s breath stills for a second before he smirks.

“Well, aren’t you a little too optimistic,” he says, but he’s already shifting closer, one hand coming up to rest on Jisung’s chest. “But I guess today is your lucky day.”

“I’d say it’s _ your _lucky—” Jisung starts but the rest of his sentence is muffled by Minho’s lips.

Jisung’s body of solid and warm under Minho’s touch, his lips even sweeter than he’d imagined. Minho brushes his fingers over Jisung’s jaw, the side of his neck, the soft ends of his hair, feeling his contours like he never dared to before.

When they pull back, and Minho’s damp shirt sticks to his back and his calves ache and his pulse rushes past his ears; when Jisung looks up at him, tender smile and loving eyes and heavy hands on his waist—it’s all more than enough.

The rest of his life is just starting and his whole being bursts at the seams with surge of feeling _ alive. _

**Author's Note:**

> can you tell uni terrified me? lol  
please tell me your thoughts uwu  
you could also come talk to me on [twt](https://twitter.com/squishiesungie) or [cc!](https://curiouscat.me/squishiesungie)


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